Bound by Steel

by J. B. Havens

“It will be done. And the message?”

  “We hurt that bastard Nickoli, but now we must continue our campaign against our enemies. I need to know where that bitch and her dogs are. Find me a Spetsnaz goon. Now go.” The young lieutenant hurried from the room, his cell phone already glued to his ear, gathering the resources needed to kidnap one of the Russian Special Forces operatives. It would be an immense and dangerous task. They were already on Spetsnaz radar; taking one could very well blow up in their faces. It was not an order given lightly; but to prove that he was worthy of leadership, he must make hard and fast decisions.

  “I will make you proud, Yusef. I will bathe in the blood of our enemies.” Speaking to the ghost of his former leader strengthened Dimitri’s resolve. He would find that American bitch and he would make her beg for death.

  ****

  Nickoli ended the call with trembling hands. His insides rolled and twisted with fear and anger. “This can’t be happening…” His voice trailed off as his thoughts rioted. Alone in his room, he needed to calm down before he told the others. He was in no frame of mind to make any sense. He threw his phone across the room and yelled as it smashed against the stone castle wall. “Dammit! Mother fucker!”

  His friend was dead. Closer than a brother, Alexei had been on his team in Spetsnaz; they had fought together for years. And now he had been butchered at the hands of the mob. They were looking for revenge and information. Based on the reported state of his friend’s body, he couldn’t blame him for giving them up. His fingernails had been torn off; both ears were sliced from his head; broken bones and deep knife slashes covered him. They’d severed his hands and burned him with an iron rod. The pain he must have felt was unimaginable.

  And it was all his fault. Nickoli’s mind replayed his own attack. Powerless to stop the memories, he sank onto his bed in despair. The beating had been bad enough, but once they brought out the damn baseball bat and steel pipe, he knew it was going to get much worse. They hadn’t asked him a single question or said a word. Two men had held him flat against a concrete block building while three more took turns beating him with their fists and the pipe. He didn’t know why they had chosen his leg. At one point, he’d passed out from the pain and shock; his knee was crushed and his lower leg and ankle were smashed into a pulp. They’d dropped him to the ground and tacked a note to his chest, then left him for dead. He had woken up in the hospital, missing his leg. The empty space below the blankets where his leg should have been was an image that would haunt him forever. Even now, looking down at his stump made his insides twist.

  He hated the weakness he felt all the time. He was a pathetic shell of the man he used to be. Before the attack, he’d be on a plane running headlong into the battle. Now all he was good for was checking the security cameras and crap around here. Forcing himself to shake off the depression for the moment at least, he left his room and headed downstairs. Everyone was beginning to gather for the celebrations. He would tell them about Alexei after Christmas. He didn’t want to bring that kind of heartache into the holiday. The secret was sitting like a stone in his belly and he knew that Mic and the others wouldn’t let this stand. Another battle was coming. They were all weary of fighting and blood, but evil prevails when good men do nothing.

  The sounds of laughter and family greeted him as he descended the stairs carefully. Occasionally, he faltered on the treads and the last thing he wanted was to plunge headlong down the stone staircase. Following the noise into the great room, he found everyone gathered around, drinking and laughing. They hadn’t noticed him yet, so he took a moment to appreciate the sight. Mic and Jordon, side-by-side, so obviously two halves of a whole. Flynn was at the bar, an open case of Rip-Its in front of him. Empty cans were lined up neatly and he was looking a little green as he downed another. It appeared as though he had ten or twelve more to go. He did not envy that man; he’d be a ball of pain and misery soon.

  Rook and Roza sat on the couch. Rook’s long arm was slung over her shoulder, keeping her close and secure. It pleased him to no end to see his longtime friend so happy. After losing his girlfriend to Anton, Nickoli hadn’t been sure his brother could ever open himself up to a woman again. Roza was a perfect counterpart to Rook.

  “Nickoli! About time you joined us.” Jones clapped him on the shoulder and shoved a glass of amber liquid into his hand. Wrinkling his nose, he tried to hand it back, but the man wouldn’t take it.

  “I’d prefer vodka, thanks.” He didn’t mind the highland brewed whiskey or scotch, whatever you called it, but he wasn’t in the mood for it tonight. He needed to drink to his brother’s memory and that required the liquor of his homeland.

  “You okay?” Over the past months, the silent Jones had become a close friend.

  “For today and tomorrow, I am. The next day, I will tell you.” Unable to say more than that without his grief overwhelming him, Nickoli left Jones behind and headed to the bar. Leaving the glass of scotch untouched, he found a shot glass and his bottle of vodka. Downing one quickly, he poured another. The traditional toasts offered over glasses of vodka rattled through his head. To your health, for love, for the dead. He found that he could not utter a single one. The party was progressing all around him, while in his mind all he could see was Alexei’s battered face. Pouring another drink, he mentally toasted his comrade and vowed to avenge him.

  ****

  I watched Nickoli at the bar as he downed another shot. He’d had four in only a few minutes. Something was bothering him, something more than the usual. I considered bugging him, dragging out the truth, but his body language told me all I needed to know. He wanted to be left alone. Aunt Beatrice and Jackson were here; family was gathered all around. There would be time enough for the Russians later. I did my best to put the threat out of my mind and enjoy this time together.

  “Look at Flynn; he’s slowing down.” I nudged Chris.

  Laughing, he joked, “You would be too. How many is that? Thirteen now? I almost feel bad for the poor bastard, but it’s Flynn… so I don’t.”

  “You guys suck. Fuck you.” Flynn grumbled and burped, groaning as he opened another can.

  “Watch your language, Flynn!” Aunt Beatrice chided from across the room.

  “It’s your fault you lost. Suck it up!” I teased.

  Grimacing, he tipped his head back and chugged the energy drink. Crushing the empty can, he tossed it with the others, knocking them down like bowling pins.

  “Why exactly is he doing this?” Aunt Beatrice asked from beside me.

  “It was a bet; he lost. I won. This is the price.” Chuckling at his agony, I laughed loudly as Flynn groaned and burped again. Nickoli backed up out of range, probably afraid he was about to get puked on.

  “You children. So idiotic sometimes.” Shaking her head and tapping her foot in displeasure, Aunt Beatrice scolded Flynn.

  “Blame the Army, it’s all their fault.” Flynn stood quickly, wrapping his arms around his stomach and moaning “Oh, God.” He hustled from the room.

  “Ding, ding! We have a winner! Flynn can’t finish the case,” Pierce shouted as he grabbed a bag and began cleaning up the empty cans.

  “No surprise there. Have you ever seen someone finish a case?” Jordon asked.

  “Once. It was not pretty. He was in the latrine for an hour and needed a change of clothes, if you know what I mean,” Pierce said.

  “Dude! That was you! Screw you, asshole,” Flynn responded as he came back into the great room, red-faced and sweating. The armpits and collar of his shirt were dark and wet.

  “Come on man, go change. And shower. You’re disgusting.” Pierce walked backward, out of Flynn’s reach.

  “Nothing you haven’t seen before.” Wiping his face with his hands, Flynn reached his sweat-soaked palms out toward a rapidly retreating Pierce.

  “Dammit Flynn! This isn’t Iraq. Get the hell away from me.”

  “Enough, you two! Dammit all, can’t we go a whole evening without you dipshits going at it?
You both need girlfriends,” I griped.

  “Girlfriend? You mean there might actually be a woman somewhere that would put up with Flynn?” A woman’s voice startled us all.

  Heads whipping around to the doorway, we were all surprised to see who was standing there. Jones leaned against the wall to the side, looking smug.

  “Red?” Flynn stuttered, quickly wiping his palms on his jeans.

  “Hey, Flyboy. Surprise.” She beamed, her white/grey hair spiked in a punk style. Dressed in black jeans and a red parka, she was striking. She took off her coat, revealing a grey t-shirt that read Scrooge You in red letters.

  “What the…? Why are you here?” Flynn was flustered. It was a delight to see him so off-kilter.

  “It’s Christmas, why else?” She shrugged and stepped further into the room. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

  “Mic?” Flynn looked at me with wide eyes, confusion deeply etched into the lines of his face.

  Shrugging, I strode toward her with my hand extended. “Welcome to Castle Steel, Red. There is always room at our table for one more.” I glanced at Jones, arching a brow in his direction. He smiled and said nothing.

  “Nice one, Jones.” Pierce muttered, waiting for the fur to start flying between Flynn and Red again. The last time they had come to blows and Flynn was left with a smashed ego and a few bruises.

  “Yes, if you are all wondering and scratching your heads, Jones invited me. I figured he would have passed on my acceptance, though.” Helping herself to a drink, she braced her elbows on the bar and looked at each of us in turn. “So, Flyboy, you gonna introduce me or stand there with your mouth open?”

  “Um… yeah. Okay. That huge Nubian man over there is our former Master Sergeant, Jackson. His wife slash live-in is Mic’s Aunt Beatrice. She’s quick with a spoon, so don’t swear around her. She makes you wear an apron and wash dishes.” Visibly shuddering, Flynn pointed to Roza next. “That is Roza.” She waved shyly in response. “She’s with Rook and helps out around here a lot. She’s a good egg and learns fast.” Flynn kept babbling. I’d never seen him so nervous.

  “Flynn, shut it.” Jackson’s voice boomed, carrying loudly in the stone room.

  “Yes, Master Sergeant.” Blushing and stumbling over his feet, he took the drink from Red’s hand and downed it in one swallow.

  “Relax, Flynn. What’s got you so damn nervous?” Red smiled slyly and I was beginning to suspect that there was much more going on there than I was aware of.

  Leaning close, Chris whispered in my ear. “It’s like a soap opera around here. All we need is for someone to go into a coma or come back from the dead or some crap.”

  “I’m going to go check dinner. Bea, give me a hand.” Aunt Beatrice didn’t bother to ask; she didn’t need to.

  “Sure.” Handing my glass to Chris, I followed her into the kitchen.

  “Your cook does a fine job, I see. Clean.” Aunt Beatrice slid a finger along the countertop, checking to see if it met her standards. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t want to be in the room with her and Maggie. That fight would be legendary.

  “Yeah, she’s pretty great. Keeps us in line. She’s like a Scottish version of you.”

  “How have you been?” All levity gone, she was earnest and worried. I’d been expecting this since she arrived.

  “I’m good, really. Business is great.” I pushed the thought of Russia aside; I didn’t want to worry her with news of more danger headed our way. For these next two days, I didn’t want to think about it at all. We needed a break and I was burning out. Years of back-to-back missions, torture, and death had worn me down.

  “Are you? Truly? I know it must be hard, the first Christmas without Phillips.”

  The sound of his name took the breath from my lungs as my grief rose up again anew. “It sucks. No doubt about that. He’s dead. And he died horribly. I miss him… I could really use him here. But he’s gone for good and there’s not a damn thing that I can do about it.” My hands tightened into fists and I turned my back to her. I heard the oven door open and smelled the roasting turkey. The aromas of the holiday meal were almost making me sick. The laughter pouring from the other room and the warmth of the fire—it was all well and good, but Phillips’s absence was a gaping wound.

  “Do you still blame Fisher?” Aunt Beatrice asked softly.

  “Yes. And no. I don’t know anymore,” I sighed. I didn’t want to have this fucking conversation, but I knew she would leave me no choice. Better to go with the Band-Aid method and just fucking get it over with.

  “He blames himself, you know.” Metal clanged together as she worked behind me. “He didn’t want to come. But I made him. You two are family and you both need to get past this. You can’t shut him out forever.”

  “Maybe not. But I can’t just… forgive him and pretend it didn’t happen.” I was nearly shouting, my emotions bubbling up even as I did my best to control them. Smacking the counter with my hands, I spun toward her. “You weren’t there! You didn’t know him. He was a good man; one of the best I’ve ever known and he’s dead! He got his fucking head chopped off while I watched! How the fuck am I supposed to feel, huh? You tell me; what would you do? Forgive? Forget? Move on with your life as if nothing happened? I’m pissed the fuck off and I have every goddamn right to be. Not you, or anyone else, is going to tell me otherwise, either.”

  “I should smoke your ass for talking to your aunt like that.” I slowly turned my head to look at Jackson. He was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his massive chest; anger was pouring off of him in waves.

  “You could try,” I snarled.

  “Enough of this!” Aunt Beatrice smacked a metal spoon against the counter, gravy or something splattering everywhere. “You are my niece; he is my soul mate. Figure this out! I won’t have it! Do you understand me, you two? Instead of letting your grief push you apart, it should draw you together.” The door creaked open and she pointed the spoon at whoever was standing there. “This does not concern you; get out.” I didn’t bother to turn and see who it was. I was afraid that if I looked away she’d attack at the first sign of movement, like a T-rex in a cardigan. “If I have to lock you both in the same room until you sort this crap out, I will do it. So help me, I mean it. Fisher, stop carrying your guilt around like a stone hanging from your neck. It wasn’t your fault!” Her eyes flashed and she turned to me next. “And you, young lady. You are the bravest and strongest woman I’ve ever met and I am honored to have had a hand in raising you. Fisher is not to blame here, though. He was not the one wielding the machete that night. He was not the person who betrayed his team. Lay the blame where it belongs. And then get over it. Grieve for Phillips, mourn him, and honor him. This…,” she pointed to the two of us, “…is not honoring him one freaking bit.” Setting the spoon aside, she picked up a washcloth and began to wipe up the mess. “I’ve said my piece. You two need to figure it out from here. Get out of my kitchen for a while. I have things to do if we’re going to eat sometime today.”

  Chapter 8

  I left through the back door, not bothering to get a coat. The cold felt good on my overheated skin. Standing on the patio, I turned my face to the sky. The stars were bright and the moon was full. It was a clear night and the snow glowed white in the darkness. It reminded me of Russia, as so much did these days. As grateful as I was for our new beginning, I longed for the simplicity of missions. Finding my target and completing the task. Navigating my feelings and those of others had never been my strong suit. Now there seemed to be too much idle time. I needed action, the feel of steel under my palms and the adrenaline of the chase.

  “Mic.” Jackson spoke softly from behind me. I didn’t bother to turn. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. I was frozen with indecision.

  “Missions are simple. I always know the correct move. Where to go, who the target is, how to execute the plan. This—I’m lost.”

  “I know what you mean. Being a civilian sucks sometimes. It’s hard as fuck.”
He paused, seeming to gather himself. “Your aunt is wrong. It was my fault. All of it. I deserve your hate and your condemnation.”

  “I know. But she’s not totally wrong. Phillips wouldn’t want this.”

  “No. Maybe not. How do we proceed then? You won’t forgive me and I can’t forgive myself. I don’t deserve it.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels, staring at the sky with me.

  “At least you admit that you’re the cause of the death of one of the greatest men I’ve ever known. Phillips was my brother. He didn’t deserve it. He was getting out, starting over with a new life.”

  “I know.”

  “So here’s how it’s going to be. We both love my aunt. We’ll be civil for her sake. That’s all I can give. Nothing more.” Pivoting on my heel, I faced him. “If you ever mention his name in my presence again, I’ll do everything in my power to kick your fucking ass. Do you understand me? We’re not family; we just happen to love the same person. You treat her right. If you don’t, I’ll kill you.”

  Not giving him the option of a response, I walked away into the snow. I needed some air, far away from Jackson and the castle.

  ****

  Flynn’s fingers clutched the high ball glass so hard, he was surprised it didn’t break. Fucking Jones was going to get the ass kicking of a lifetime when this was over. Red was here. She was standing no more than ten feet from him, deep in conversation with Rook. He wanted to go over there and rip the bastard’s throat out. Mine! It was unreasonable and completely childish, but feelings were what they were and jealousy was the strongest of them all. Why had he told Jones about those calls? His mind played back over the past few weeks…

  He couldn’t get Red, that mouthy pilot, out of his head. Even as he stood here, talking to this gorgeous bartender, all he could think about was her. This girl’s hair was too long and her tits were too big. She wasn’t whip smart and slender like a reed. He didn’t know what was wrong with him—his game was gone. Ruined. And it was all her fault. His pocket vibrated, startling him. The number flashing was unknown, which wasn’t unusual. He swiped the screen and put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”